


I am no bird - no net ensnares me

by MisusedEllipsis



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mystery, Post-World War I, Romance, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisusedEllipsis/pseuds/MisusedEllipsis
Summary: In which country-school mistress Nathalie Sancoeur takes a position as governess at Vanily Manor, a house almost as haunted as it's master, the great and honorable Gabriel Agreste.a.k.a. the Rebecca/Jane Eyre AU you didn't know you needed.
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 40
Kudos: 59





	1. The Way Was Barred To Me

The train ride to Paris was uneventful, crowded, but normal. Or at least, as normal as she'd imagined it to be. She'd never been on the train to Paris before. The Sancoeur family was many things but wealthy was not one of them. Which was why she had not hesitated to take up her new employer’s offer to finance her journey. It wasn't as though he couldn't afford it; the man was practically royalty if the newspapers and magazines were anything to go by.

Gabriel Agreste: an elusive textile tycoon, recently widowed, with a seven-year-old son. 

That was all Nathalie knew of the family. That, and what she’d happened to read about in newspapers. But those were mostly full of strange gossip and rumors. Some journalists claimed the man was so overcome with grief that he never left his house, others said he’d taken on two different mistresses and was never at home. Some claimed the man was a German spy and that his business travels were all cover stories for nefarious espionage. Still, others believed the man to be a murderer, that his apparent grief was merely a charade.

Ridiculous, really. So Nathalie saw no point in taking such stories to heart. She had never been one for gothic melodrama, and she was not about to start. It was almost 1920 for goodness sake. 

As the train slowly came to a halt within the station, Nathalie nervously adjusted her spectacles. She needed to look her best, despite her modest means, so she pinched her cheeks and bit her lip to help freshen her look. Though through the reflection in the window, she felt she looked more like a sickly Victorian child than a sophisticated lady of thirty-three. It would have to do. Mr. Agreste had hired a governess, not a Vaudeville actress. 

Upon exiting the train, she was instantly struck by masses of people on the crowded platform. Her childhood village barely had fifty people, yet this station had hundreds and they were sweeping her almost entirely off her feet. She clung to her trusty suitcase as she pushed through the hoard and out to the street. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stepped down the station steps to the sidewalk. She gazed out at the park just across the way and in the distance, she spotted that famous tower, the one she'd heard of all her life but had only glimpsed on postcards and magazines. She again took to adjusting her spectacles. As she did so, a young man suddenly approached her, wearing a smart green chauffeur uniform.

"Mlle Sancoeur?" He asked with a polite nod, "Mr. Agreste apologizes for his absence. He intended to greet you himself. Please, allow me to help you with your things."

"Oh, right," she handed him the one bag, awkwardly shrugging when he looked around for her other nonexistent luggage, "I like to travel light."

He smiled at that before leading her to where a very stylish automobile waited on the street amongst the cabs and street buses. He offered her a hand as he opened the passenger door, but she hesitated. She'd never ridden in anything so sophisticated and modern. It seemed as though she hadn't done very much in her life. But that was surely going to change now.

He nodded to her, silently urging her to get a move on. She accepted his hand and barely had time to settle inside before he was seated at the driver's side, shifting the car into gear and speeding down the busy boulevard.

The rumbling of the engine did little to drown out the hustle and bustle of the city. They passed through busy markets and avenues. Children ran in the streets playing with hoops and sticks, and there were a few soldiers laughing and whistling to pretty girls in the latest fashions. The neighborhood was alive and well, though the effects of the war were still apparent throughout the city. The people here were trying to make the most of life, it would seem, but she noticed how the cheer faded as the car turned down one particular street and made its way out of the city center. 

The noise of life died away and even the silent chauffeur, whose name Nathalie still did not know, grew more solemn as they came upon a stone wall with an impressive iron gate. Passing through it, they continued down a tree-lined lane.

"We are on the Vanily grounds now," he explained quietly, "Mr. Agreste demands privacy, as you can imagine, given recent events. So visitors are few and far between," he sighed a little, his eyes glazing over in thought, "It is a very lonely place, Mlle Sancoeur. Try not to let it get to you."

Nathalie pondered the meaning of his warning and watched ahead as the trees parted to reveal Vanily Manor, the Agreste’s estate and home, though it was hard to believe the mansion before them was truly a home. She was greeted by a cold, imposing marble facade, a large black ebony door, and dozens of windows, with every curtain drawn, save for one. The large round window which stood above the main door was uncovered, and she could have sworn she saw a figure standing there, watching the car come to a stop below the front steps.

The chauffeur walked around and opened the door for her just as a handful of household staff came through the front door to wait at attention. An older man, the butler she assumed, approached her with a stern sort of look about him.

"Mlle Sancoeur, welcome to Vanily Manor. We've been expecting you," he began, formal and polite, "Allow me to introduce you to the staff…"

He began to rattle off the names of two housemaids, a footman, Mr. Agreste's valet, and the housekeeper. All perfectly acceptable names, all of which she immediately forgot. On top of her new-job jitters, she could not shake the feeling she was being watched, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

"...and of course you have already met Henri, our newest addition aside from yourself," the butler continued, gesturing vaguely to the car, "We needed someone to drive the wretched thing, apparently."

One of the housemaids let out a giggle and he cast her a warning look before turning to Nathalie again.

"And I am Maurice Dupont. Though everyone calls me Dupont. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask," he then smiled, but there was sadness in his looks, "The staff has decreased in size over the years, so we do our best to help new arrivals whenever we can."

"Indeed," she muttered, suddenly at ease, "And thank you for such a warm welcome," she addressed the rest of the staff, "I'm sure I will feel right at home here."

"Of course dear," the housekeeper -Mrs. Vernon was it?- affirmed, "Now, let us show you to your room before Mr Agreste returns for supper."

"Is he not home?" She asked, taking her bag from Henri, who gave her a knowing look.

"Heavens no, child," Mrs. Vernier -that's it!- let out, but then turned quiet as she looked around cautiously and continued through the impressive entryway, which continued in the cold and unfriendly aesthetic of the exterior, "He is very rarely at Vanily. He had intended to be here, but urgent business took him away this morning. I imagine he won't even make it home for supper. But he assures us he will be here. Though who is to say if he will actually make it in time. He has such important business to attend to.”

Nathalie hardly had a moment to take in the grandeur of the foyer, with its massive chandelier and impossibly clean marble floors, before they made their way up the main staircase, which split in two at a landing where a portrait once hung. There wasn’t a portrait there now, and Nathalie had no basis to assume a portrait had ever hung there before. But it was the kind of wall she could easily imagine a portrait would be. Perhaps the portrait of a smiling family or a stern ancestor. 

Mrs. Vernier pointed to the left stairs, "That leads to the servants quarters in the Southern wing, as well as various storage rooms. The East Wing has a few guest rooms, but otherwise stands empty," she then turned to the right, "The North wing is where the family resides. The nursery, of course, is there, Mr. Agreste's private chambers, and a small-ish sort of library, which has been opened for use as your classroom. Your bedroom is in this wing as well." 

Nathalie followed her but noted another corridor which was unlit by either candle or electric light. 

"What's down there?"

Mrs. Vernier glanced at her sharply but then softened, "It is only the West Wing. A fire broke out there some months ago. We have yet to repair the damage, so some of the floorboards are rather unstable. Mr. Agreste intends to modernize it all and the plans are still underway."

They continued to the Northern wing in silence. Nathalie found it hard to believe this was a family home and not an institution of some kind. The entire house seemed to be devoid of warmth and happiness. There were dark drapes over the windows and dull electric light gave off a sad glow throughout. There were black and grey decorations and lifeless modern artwork hanging on every wall, save one.

As they turned to enter what Nathalie assumed was the nursery, she paused to admire one particular portrait of a beautiful blonde woman wearing an old fashioned Regency evening gown of deepest sapphire blue. The portrait itself was the exact sort of one she’d wished had been over the grand staircase in the foyer, and the blue gown was the only splash of color Nathalie had seen in the entire house. Even more enchanting than the dress were the women's eyes. Green, cunning and graceful. She was mesmerized.

"Come now," Mrs. Vernier's voice snapped her back to reality.

Entering the nursery, it was like she had entered an entirely different house. There were toys galore, and warm colors and light. A cheerful puppet stage stood at one wall, with a collection of stuffed animals sitting in the audience. There was also a very beautiful grand piano, which Nathalie thought was a little odd given the age of her intended charge. And on the piano bench, playing a simple ditty sat a small boy with the wildest head of blonde hair she'd ever seen.

She and Mrs. Vernier waited patiently for him to finish the song. When he did, Nathalie took it upon herself to clap. The boy seemed a little startled by the praise, blushing as he climbed from the stool and approached them, his bashful-ness seeming to melt away at the prospect of a new friend.

"That was very beautiful," Nathalie said, extending her hand in greeting, "What is it called?"

"Little Cat on the Roof," the little boy stated matter of factly and shook her hand tightly, "It's my favorite!"

Mrs. Vernier smiled and bent down to his level, "Master Adrien, this is your new governess, Mlle Nathalie."

Adrien's smile faded a little, "Oh, you mean like Mlle Anne? She only stayed here a month...Will you leave too, Mlle Nathalie?"

Nathalie was taken aback by that. She did not realize her predecessor had come and gone so quickly -- a fact Mr. Agreste had failed to include in his letters, she realized. Perhaps the boy was incorrigible? But that hardly seemed likely.

"I intend to stay for as long as you intend to learn, Adrien," she explained, "You do like to learn, right?" 

The boy nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes! I like learning! And I will be a very good student, I promise! So you don't have to go away ever!"

"You two should get along just splendidly," Mrs. Vernier smiled, "Now Adrien, I am going to show Mlle Nathalie to her room. Can you play nicely here for a little while before I bring supper?"

The boy nodded and skipped across to the piano again. 

Mrs. Vernier’s smile fell a bit as she watched the boy begin another song.

“He’s such a lonely child,” she whispered with a sigh before gesturing for Nathalie to follow her out into the hall, “I am glad you have come. He will have someone to watch over him, and teach him. It has been quite some time since anyone’s really looked after him properly.”

“What of his nurses or nannies? Does he have anyone?” she asked, but Mrs. Vernier only shook her head.

“Mrs. Agreste, God rest her, had been very adamant that she raise him herself, without a nanny,” she explained in a quiet ramble, her voice hushed as though the very walls had ears, “I thought it was very noble of her to choose such a life for her boy, but she was a very busy woman. And Mr. Agreste, well...He’s never had the same talent as she did with children. I have taken on the role of a nanny as best I can, but I also have a house to run. I must say I was glad when he did decide to hire a governess again, especially after…” 

Her voice went silent and she suddenly glanced over her shoulder back down the hall. Her eyes widening in what Nathalie could only describe as fear. 

Nathalie looked as well, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the portrait of the lady in blue.

“Mrs. Vernier?” she asked, but the older woman just laughed.

“Forgive me,” she exhaled, nervous and strained, “I was just imagining things...The light has a tendency to play tricks on an old woman like me. Now, let’s get you into your room. Here…”

Mrs. Vernier turned around a corner and opened the first door there, letting Nathalie pass inside before her. The room itself was a decent size, with a solid, four-poster mahogany bed, wardrobe and vanity set. The entire room was a soft eggshell blue and a romantic sort of softness in the decoration, with an apparent bird theme in the bedding and window drapes. Nathalie thought it charming, though not entirely in-keeping with the rest of the house’s modern aesthetic. 

Nathalie set her things down on the vanity before heading over to the windows and throwing back the curtains. She felt her face sink in disappointment as she looked to the garden below. There was little beauty to be found in the bleak plot of landscaping, with its ivy-covered stone walls and trimmed hedges. The lawn and flowerbeds were manicured to perfection, but the flowers were wilting in the autumn cold, and it felt as though the very soul of the place was dying. It was like a scene out of a book she'd read as a child, about a mysterious hidden garden. 

Her eyes suddenly fell upon a figure there, a man. Tall, with greying blonde hair, in a cream-colored suit. His back was to her, as he looked out over the small pond which stood in the farthest corner. He was fixated on the still waters, but after a moment he turned, as though he had sensed her staring. His steely grey eyes met hers in an instant. 

“Oh goodness, it’s him!” Mrs. Vernier cried out at her side, taking her arm and practically dragging her away from the window, “You must hurry and change for dinner, girl! You can’t expect to dine with Mr. Agreste in that old thing-”

“But this is new!" Nathalie protested but Mrs. Vernier persisted.

She sheepishly opened her bag and pulled out the only other two outfits she owned. One was a brown tartan skirt and jacket, and the other, a simple, black linen day dress. Both perfectly acceptable outfits for a governess. But not, apparently, for dinner.

Mrs. Vernier tutted lightly and held a finger to her temple, the sure signs of a headache, as Nathalie would eventually learn. 

“Very well. Give me a turn,” she stated, twirling her other finger demandingly. 

Nathalie did as commanded, slowly spinning around to show off her grey tweed travel ensemble, though there wasn’t much to show. It was simple, professional, and most importantly, warm. That September had proven to be a rather chilly one, and she was not about to catch a cold. Still, Mrs. Vernier insisted that she remove the jacket.

“The blouse and vest are better without it anyway,” she sighed in defeat as she took her leave, “You had best wash up a bit as well. I will notify the kitchen that Mr. Agreste has arrived!”

Nathalie only nodded in agreement and watched Mrs. Vernier vanish into the hall. She quietly shut the door and turned to feel the cool wood on her back as she looked over her tiny dominion. She was alone, finally. 

In two steps, she collapsed onto the bed and began to pry off her shoes. Of course, she’d have to put them back on again for dinner, but her feet had been in agony since Lyon. 

She lay still for a moment, the soft mattress surrounding her in comfort as she closed her eyes. 

Just a few minutes of rest, she thought. Just a few minutes to imagine she was back home.

\--------------

When her eyes opened, she was in darkness. She blinked a few times, thinking her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no. 

She sat straight up in the bed and realized with horror that the sun had long since set, and that over an hour had passed during her little nap. She blindly grabbed for her shoes and ran a finger through her hair, which was her first mistake. 

Her bun had taken quite a hit in her sleep, and she heard several pins clatter to the floor. She felt pieces of her hair fall on her shoulders and she could only imagine what a mess she looked. And she really was left with only her imagination because even with the large vanity mirror, she could hardly see anything in the darkness. 

Still, she tried to pin up what remained, and silently prayed to the heavens that it might appear fashionable. Of course, she'd never really cared about her appearance before, so long as she looked professional. But this was the great Gabriel Agreste! The man was a pillar of fashionable society after all; it was hard not to feel at least a little flustered at the prospect of meeting the self-made millionaire. 

A knock on her door pulled her from her panic, and she took a breath to compose herself before answering.

One of the housemaids greeted her with a quizzical smile.

“I trust everything is alright, miss?” she asked, “Dinner will be ready soon. And, if you’ll allow me…” she entered the room and flicked the light switch beside the door, instantly flooding the room in soft electric light, “That will make things a little easier for you, I think.”

“Of course, right,” Nathalie replied, kicking herself for not remembering the girl's name, “I will be along shortly.”

“I trust you can find your way back to the foyer?” the girl asked, “The dining room is just to the right there. You can’t miss it.”

But Nathalie did miss it. She missed it several times. 

In fact, she couldn’t imagine a world in which this particular dining room was not missed. 

After some searching, and asking the other housemaid, she did eventually find it. 

The doors were closed and she heard the soft clinking of silverware, but she entered anyway. 

It was better to show she had made an effort to attend dinner rather than to hide away in her room, which, frankly, she would have preferred. Nevertheless, she stood tall and proud as she entered the room and looked about to see a single man sitting at the head of the table, the man from the garden, the great and honorable Gabriel Agreste.

His grey eyes followed her as she walked to the only other seat with a place setting, directly opposite him, at the foot of the impossibly long table. She sat down, hating the way she felt her face flush under his gaze. 

He was obviously observing her outfit, no doubt abhorred by its simple construction, and humble fabrics. And he clearly noted the way she hesitated at the numerous forks and spoons which lay before her. But she ignored it. 

A moment passed while she took a sip of wine, her eyes finally glancing up to meet his.

He lifted his own glass to her in greeting.

“Mlle Sancouer, I presume?”

A moment passed and Nathalie forgot how to breathe. His eyes pierced hers, almost daring her to speak. She inhaled sharply.

“Forgive my tardiness,” she began, confident and unwavering, “I was rather tired from my journey. Time seemed to escape me."

Mr. Agreste raised his brow.

"I will overlook it this once," he stated before clearing his throat, "I know the house can be quite...tricky to navigate. I understand if you find yourself lost on occasion. There is no shame in it."

She smiled in relief. He wasn't nearly as scary as she'd first thought. 

"Thank you, I-"

"However," he continued, his tone now cold and distant, "Vanily Manor can only be maintained with strict schedules and routine. I cannot allow such tardiness to become a habit."

"Of course not, sir."

His eyes fell as he continued with his meal. Not a word passed between them for the duration, and Nathalie was grateful. Eating in silence was not nearly as awkward as trying to keep a conversation going when there was none to be had. Mr. Agreste was certainly not in the mood for small talk, if his silence was anything to go by. 

The first course ended as uneventfully as it had started. It was followed by a silent second and third course, and finally, when all hope of conversation seemed lost, Mr. Agreste looked to her as he took his last bite of souffle. 

"Your previous employment, the girls' school - it was a remote sort of place, yes?" He asked, as though out of the blue.

Nathalie took a moment to consider the question.

"Indeed, sir," she replied, "Compared to Paris, yes, it was rather remote. The nearest train station was some 15 miles away."

He grimaced, "Such a distant place, I doubt you had any modern conveniences at all. Was it difficult to keep up with their schooling? Being so far from the modern world?"

Nathalie found herself wrinkling her brow.

"I resent the notion that because the school was in a rural village that we were so lacking in our curriculum," she stated, "We gave our girls as proper an education as any city school. Better, even. For we had not the modern temptations a city might offer which would distract from their studies," she found her voice growing more sharp, pointed, as she continued, "And I can assure you that my experience there in no way diminishes my ability to teach your son."

Mr. Agreste seemed taken aback by her words, blinking a few times before he found his voice again.

"I did not mean to cause offense, Mlle Sancoeur. Nor did I mean to suggest that a country schoolmistress might be ill-fit to be a governess in this house," he explained calmly, "I must confess, it was your country background which drew me to your application."

It was Nathalie's turn to be surprised.

"Oh?"

Mr. Agreste leaned back in his chair, the stiff formality of the evening fading as he sighed and downed the rest of his wine.

"Yes," he let out, "You were the only person I felt I could trust. Your letter was straight forward, no-frills, no compliments. No loose personal connection to the Agreste company, or some distant wealthy relative who could vouch for you. In short, as far as I can tell, you know nothing if this family and the rumors which plague our lives."

He took a pause, his head sinking a little as he clenched his jaw.

"I can't have my son exposed to such things. He is too young. It will break his heart, one day. But not now," he muttered, almost to himself.

His eyes glanced up to her, cautious.

"Can you promise me you will act with discretion? And that you will not allow petty rumors and scandal to affect how you teach my son?"

Nathalie felt a weight come upon her, as he looked to her like the man was asking her to make a sacred vow. His tone was all business, but his eyes gave him away. He was desperate. He needed her to say yes, to silence the doubt in his head.

That weight she'd felt suddenly gave way to something else. Something gentle and warm, and it flooded her chest. 

She suddenly couldn't think of anything else to say except, "Of course, sir."

He nodded with a relieved exhale, "Good. Good, that's...er..." he sat up quickly, seemingly content with her answer, "That's well and good, Mlle Sanceour. I expect nothing less from all my staff."

At that moment, Mr. Agreste's personal valet, a large man with a thick brow, entered the room, breaking the peculiar tension which hung between them. 

There was an urgency in his step as he rushed to the table and whispered something in Mr. Agreste's ear. 

Nathalie watched in alarm as Mr. Agreste stood suddenly, his chair screeching across the floor in his panic. Without a word, he began towards the door, before suddenly remembering himself. He quickly turned on his heel and looked to her, his aloof mannerisms doing little to conceal the distress she saw in his eyes.

"Forgive the short notice, but I am afraid I must be away from the house for a few days. Merely a business venture," he explained, rather harshly, "I promise to return soon to oversee your progress with Adrien. In the meantime, the staff will be able to assist you with anything you may possibly need."

"Of course, sir, but-" she began, her mind reeling with all the questions she had not thought to ask.

What expectations did he have for Adrien's studies? Would she be expected to have meals with him regularly? Why was it she was not housed with the other staff? What were the rumors he was so afraid of?

Mr. Agreste glanced at her with an impatient sort of stare and all those questions disappeared from her mind.

"Have a safe trip, sir," she murmured, her eyes held by his gaze, "And thank you for this opportunity. I won't fail you."

His lips twitched in a sort of half-smile before he nodded and walked away. The valet closed the door behind them with a heavy thud, which echoed through the house like the clang of some ancient dungeon gate.

Alone, she felt the nervous tension leave her body. He had been quite different than she imagined, but also entirely predictable. He was a text-book example of an elusive, grieving widower. 

But there was something else beneath the surface, something she had only caught a glimpse of in their brief encounter. The remnants of a kind, passionate soul, who loved his son more than anything. She hoped she might see that version of him again soon. 

But as she left the dining room, and slowly made her way to her room, she doubted she would ever see beyond his unfeeling facade. If Vanily Manor’s unwelcoming austerity was in any way indicative of its master’s heart, then the way was already barred to her.


	2. Sitting in Sunshine, Calm and Sweet

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into an entire month and Nathalie wondered if Mr. Agreste would ever return to Vanily Manor. His son asked after him daily, but there was little news aside from one short letter apologizing again for his prolonged work trip. 

However, Mr. Agreste's absence did not leave too much of a mark on Nathalie's day to day life. It seemed to help things. She and Adrien both became more and more accustomed to each other, to their strict schedules and curriculum, all meticulously prepared by Mr. Agreste, of course. And though she made certain to maintain professionalism as a teacher, the two became fast friends. 

Adrien was bright, talented, and took to their lessons quickly, excelling in every subject with ease. He seemed to have a particular fondness for reading, which Nathalie decided to nurture in every way she could.

She simply adored the short while they had during the day when Adrien read aloud, his innocent voice spinning fantastical tales of sleeping princesses and evil witches. They were childish stories, but the boy relished them. But not so much as he enjoyed the time he spent outdoors. 

Mr. Agreste's original curriculum did not seem to account for a child's need for sunshine and exercise, so Nathalie saw to it to make her own adjustments. Mrs. Vernier and Dupont had both initially objected, but eventually, she was able to squeeze in a twenty-minute window every other day where Adrien might be allowed some small semblance of freedom.

It had been gloomy and rainy for nearly an entire week since she'd instituted the change into his schedule, so it was a wondrous Sunday indeed when the sun finally shone through the grey morning fog. 

It was all Nathalie could do to keep Adrien focused on their morning lessons, but eventually, even she found herself longing to venture out to the garden.

Ony after luncheon did she finally relent to his pleas and allow him to take the badminton racket out to the lawn. The two played for nearly an hour before Nathalie had to excuse herself. She did not have his youthful energy, and so she rested beneath a shade tree to mark some of his written assignments. In no time at all, she had completed her work and felt no shame when she reached beneath her stack of papers to retrieve the novel she had snuck from the library.

Once she'd finished a few particularly vexing chapters, she closed the book and nestled back against the rough, knotted bark, made somewhat more comfortable by the soft shawl she wrapped over her shoulders. She felt her eyes close as she soaked in the fleeting October sun, which broke through the swaying leaves and branches in sporadic flickers. 

She felt herself dozing away, and what felt like mere moments passed when a sudden darkness hovered over her, blocking out the light. She opened her dazed eyes to see a figure looming above her, his arms crossed and face glowering in mild aggravation.

"Sir!" She instantly stood, her book and papers tumbling from her lap onto the ground at their feet. 

Mr. Agreste eyed her quizzically while she frantically knelt to collect her things and attempted to smooth her disheveled skirt and shawl. He breathed an exasperated sigh, joining her on the ground and silently assisting with a few of the more roguish papers. He glanced about the garden, where Adrien frolicked.

"I leave my son in your care for a month, and I return to find him running wild and you, asleep on the job," he stated, offering her a hand as he stood, "Is this some strange new teaching method you utilize in the country? Or can you offer any other explanation for such blatant disregard of your duties?”

Were Nathalie any less confident, she might have been startled by his words, fearful of being sacked for her apparent impertinence. But she caught the glint of a challenge in his eyes, as though the man were toying with her.

Two could play at that game.

"Indeed, sir," she smiled innocently and accepted his hand, "I am an utter disgrace. Completely incapable of maintaining a proper classroom. You must send me away this instant."

Mr. Agreste let out something like a chuckle as he swiftly helped her to her feet. His hand lingered around hers for a moment before he noticed himself and stepped away.

"You have found me out," he admitted, his hand clenched at his side, "I have, of course, been receiving weekly reports from Mrs. Vernier on the progress you have made with Adrien. She speaks very highly of you."

"That's kind of her-"

"Kind?" He cut in as he walked a few paces to inspect a branch where the last leaves of the year were clinging desperately, "Mrs. Vernier has a duty to this family, as Housekeeper, to ensure that all members of staff perform their role perfectly. In revealing to me that you are, as she phrased it, an ‘irreplaceable godsend’, she has gone above and beyond kindness. I have never heard her sing such praises,” he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “You haven't bribed her, have you?"

Nathalie wished she could fight back the blush she felt on her cheeks. She had not realized her presence in the house had left so great an impression in only a month. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

"Of course not, sir," she finally answered, "I would never do such a thing. I believe my work speaks for itself."

Mr. Agreste seemed to accept her answer, as he only nodded and began to walk away back towards the house.

"You are satisfied with me, then?" She suddenly asked after him, "And my strange country teaching methods?"

He stopped in his tracks and, turning, gazed to where Adrien continued to play, completely unaware of his father's presence. 

Nathalie saw a melancholy in his eyes which made her wonder how long it'd been since he'd seen his own child at play.

After a moment Adrien suddenly spotted them and his carefree playing instantly halted. 

"Father!" He cried, half in confusion, half in fear as he nervously tried to rub away a grass stain on his jumper, "I'm sorry, I will go inside now. We were only taking a break, right Mlle Nathalie?"

Nathalie had never seen him acting so strangely, as though he'd been caught committing some awful crime. But as she waited for Mr. Agreste to exchange something of a familial greeting with his own son, it suddenly struck her that this was the first time she'd seen father and son together and that the two could not be more dissimilar. In looks, as well as temperament. 

It was odd to think they were truly related at all.

Mr. Agreste merely waved Adrien away, silently granting permission for him to continue with his sport. Adrien's face lit up as he took up his racket again and lost himself in the fun of keeping the tiny birdie aloft.

As she observed the pair, her mind began to catch up to her own thoughts, and a dreadful sense of knowing sank like an anchor in her stomach. Her eyes searched between their faces, their hair, every feature. But she could find nothing of the father in the son. 

Was this the great secret, the rumor Mr. Agreste had wanted her to keep from Adrien? That he was not Adrien’s true father?

"I have yet to decide, Mlle Sanceour," Mr. Agreste stated suddenly.

She pushed her fears deep down, in the darkened corners of her consciousness. There was no reason to dwell on the implications of such an impossibly scandalous suspicion. She had merely been reading too many modern novels...

"About what, sir?"

"You."

Surprised by his strange, almost breathless tone, Nathalie turned to see him staring at her. He looked away quickly and cleared his throat.

"You may be a godsend in the eyes of Mrs. Vernier, but I have yet to see it for myself. In regards to outdoor recreation, I admit I failed to see the need before, but you clearly are in the right,” he confessed, almost begrudgingly, “But tell me, has he improved academically? Your strange country teaching methods do include actual teaching, do they not?"

Nathalie fought the urge to roll her eyes as she revealed that not only had Adrien completed that month's assignments with flying colors but that they had made a head start on the next unit. 

"Feel free to look over his work," she offered him the papers she held, "You will find it more than exceeds the expectations laid out in your plans. I dare say he will be overqualified even for the finest universities. If he continues in this way-"

"There is no 'if', Mlle Sanceour," Mr. Agreste spat out, his otherwise attentive attitude taking on a sudden coldness as he quickly skimmed over the papers and shoved them back into her hands, "There is no other option. Adrien understands that to succeed as I have, he must work for it. He knows what is expected of him."

Nathalie balked.

"Sir, Adrien is still a child," she began calmly though she could feel a wave of anger rising in her.

"That only means he must take every opportunity to be better. The world is a competitive place, and he cannot risk failure," Mr. Agreste explained, as though he were speaking of one of his factories or department stores, instead of a seven-year-old boy.

Nathalie held her tongue. It was a skill she had acquired over the years, and now more than ever she wished she'd never taken it up. 

Mr. Agreste's eyebrow raised at her silence, and she wondered for a moment if he was able to read her thoughts, but he made no further comment and instead took his leave of them.

Adrien came racing over to her as soon as his father entered the house. 

“Are we in trouble?” the boy asked quietly.

“No, of course not,” Nathalie ran a hand through his blonde hair, “Now, give me the other racket. I have every intention of beating you this time!”

Adrien giggled at her teasing. He knew he would win since he’d won every round that day. But of course, what he did not know was that Nathalie had purposefully thrown every match. It was such a delight to see him smile and cheer when he won. Of course, Nathalie didn’t go down without a fight.

By the time she’d finally worn him out with badminton, Mrs. Vernier was on the back steps shouting for them to come inside for supper. 

“I’ll go change then,” Nathalie muttered, realizing that Mr. Agreste’s return could very well mean the return of silent formal dinner in the dining room instead of casual supper with Adrien as she’d become accustomed.

Mrs. Vernier shook her head and tutted.

“Mr. Agreste will be dining out,” she explained, “And I suspect he will not return home until much later this evening.”

“Of course,” Nathalie sighed to herself as Mrs. Vernier took Adrien inside.

Alone on the steps, she looked out to the garden again, taking a moment to appreciate the sunset purples and pinks which painted the sky and reflected in the still waters of the pond. She had once hated the grey death of the garden, it’s stone walls, and unimaginative pathways and shrubbery, but now she found a faint sort of beauty in the small rectangle of sky above them.

The quiet creaking at the side gate alerted her to the presence of someone near the staff entrance. She turned to see Henri, who nodded in greeting as he ducked behind a large pillar and lit up a cigarette.

“I’m fairly certain Mrs. Verier would have your head if she ever caught you,” she stated calmly, looking ahead so as not to give away Henri’s hiding spot from the view of the house.

“Well, she hasn’t caught me yet, has she?” he replied dryly, “Besides, with these people, a man needs all the stress relief he can get.”

Nathalie could only chuckle at that.

“I am curious,” she began, “If Mr. Agreste is dining out this evening, how is it you are not busy preparing the car?”

Henri lifted his head to her, startled.

“Mr. Agreste is leaving? Tonight?” he asked with a huff of smoke, “This is news to me. But no, Mr. Agreste has two vehicles and prefers to drive himself most places, so I rarely drive him anywhere.”

“So what is it you do exactly?” Nathalie blurted before she could think, only to be met with an affronted look, “Forgive me, that did not come out the way I’d intended. Rather, do you have any other duties when he is away? Aside from driving the car, that is. I imagine it must get very boring.”

Henri laughed, “Oh but that’s the beauty of this job. When the cat’s away, the mice, well…” he inhaled slowly, then paused to let out a steady billow of smoke, “Let’s just say this mouse doesn’t play much. But I use my time wisely, Mlle Sancoeur. I don’t know if the same can be said of Mr. Agreste, though,” he turned to meet her eye, his voice lowered in a whisper, “For a man that’s away from his house a lot, none of us really know where he goes. Isn’t that strange to you?”

Nathalie grimaced. She never liked workplace gossip, and she certainly had no idea Henri was particularly fond of the habit. They’d become something like friends in the short while she’d been there, and never once had he discussed the comings and goings of their employer. So this turn of conversation came as a shock, to say the least.

“I really can’t say I’ve thought much of it,” she admitted, “Mr. Agreste has his businesses, his mills, his stores. His studio is in town, too, so I imagine-”

“But why so secret?” Henri pushed, “If he were just visiting his properties, why not come out and say so? Mrs. Vernier doesn’t even know where he goes half the time, and she knows everything about everyone in this house-”

“Oh, do I?” a voice asked from the door to the house.

Mrs. Vernier loomed in the doorway, and Nathalie instantly stepped as far away from Henri as possible, her head lowered in apology.

“Mrs. Vernier, ma’am, I-” she began, but Henri butted in.

“It was me, ma’am,” he stated, as he sneakily tossed his cigarette into the gravel and squashed it with his heel, “Mlle Nathalie was only listening to my absurd ramblings. She wasn’t-”

“Well, of course, she wasn’t,” Mrs. Vernier snapped cooly, her expression of gentile calmness never faltering, “Nathalie is above reproach. You, however, are not, Henri. I sincerely hope your absurd ramblings never see the light of day again. Otherwise, I will have to seriously reconsider your place here. Is that understood?”

Henri nodded earnestly and quickly retreated down the gravel path through the side gate.

Once he had left, Mrs. Vernier let out a shaky breath, her age only just showing as her smile dropped and her shoulders sagged.

“Mlle Sanceour, come,” she reached out her arm, and Nathalie quickly took it to support her as she leaned in the doorway, “I am not the most adept at confrontation, and Henri has been an ideal employee up til now. I hate to use such a tone with him. But you must understand, that sort of talk, I simply cannot allow it-”

“I know,” she assured her, “Do not worry yourself. I’m sure nothing will come of it. He was only trying to tease me.”

Mrs. Vernier smiled sincerely, appeased by her explanation, but Nathalie knew it was nothing short of a lie. Henri had been rather passionate about his ramblings, and if she were honest with herself, they did not sound entirely absurd. But it wasn’t her place to question things.

After assisting Mrs. Vernier to her office in the servant’s wing, Nathalie hurried to her room to change into something better suited for dinner with Adrien. The boy’s standards were not nearly so lofty as his father’s, but it was certainly a relief to change after playing outdoors all afternoon.

Returning to the nursery, Nathalie and Adrien were served casually from trays sent up from the kitchen. It had become something of a routine for them, though the staff initially thought it odd. Dupont considered it little better than a picnic. Still, Nathalie argued it was pointless to open up the dining room for just herself, and Adrien ate like this in the nursery anyway. 

The evening passed as pleasantly as any other, and after watching a fantastical puppet show, Nathalie tucked Adrien into bed and bid him goodnight. She would normally have spent another hour or so finishing up her work or reading, but she found herself returning to her room for a well-earned rest. However, that rest never came.

Several times in the night, she awoke for no reason, tossed and turned for some time before drifting back to sleep, only to be stirred awake again moments later. It was frustrating more than anything. She had never been an insomniac, but try as she might, she simply could not fall asleep. 

This passed for several hours when, as the moonlight softly crept through her bedroom window, she shot upright in her bed. Her ears had heard something before her mind fully comprehended the sound. She held her breath and strained to hear a strange shuffling outside her door.

It was bizarre, almost as though someone with a limp was walking along, back and forth, pacing in the hall.

“Hello?” she called out, though her voice nearly failed her, “Who’s there?”

The sound then stopped, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The shuffling then continued, frantic, hurried, as it continued down the hall and out of earshot. 

Nathalie released her breath as she ducked down beneath the covers, her heart hammering a mile a minute. She did not believe in such nonsense as ghosts or phantoms, but her mind raced like it never had before and she did not rest a wink the rest of the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the following days, Nathalie tried to maintain some normalcy during her lessons with Adrien, but Mrs. Vernier quickly saw through her act. Though it wasn’t until afternoon tea the next Thursday that she felt it necessary to ask after her health.

“My dear girl, you are acting very strangely,” Mrs. Vernier blurted after Nathalie had upset yet a third teacup on the table and attempted to mop it up with a kerchief. “You act as though you’ve seen a ghost!”

Nathalie wanted to laugh but only shook her head, “No, indeed, I did not sleep well last night. I haven’t slept well for several nights. I’ve heard the strangest sounds coming from the hall, and I am afraid I have something of an overactive imagination. It is nothing, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Vernier wrinkled her brow, and her eyes darted two and fro as though she were trying to connect several invisible dots. Suddenly she nodded, having made out whatever problem it was.

“Ah! Yes! That was probably the maid. Yes,” she chuckled, “She has a tendency to sleepwalk. Terrible habit, really. But harmless. I do apologize, normally she keeps to the servants quarters. I will make sure the door is bolted properly tonight.”

Nathalie was sure Mrs. Vernier was no liar, but she somehow doubted what she had heard was truly the maid - considering Mrs. Vernier had failed to mention which exact one of the two maids was the proposed culprit. But she tried to accept what truth she could from it. That Mrs. Vernier knew the source of the sounds and did not think it necessary to divulge the details. That, she could live with.

Her sleepiness that particular day was helped somewhat by the tea, and she was grateful for it, especially when Mr. Agreste decided to sit in on their afternoon lessons. It was the first time he’d bothered witnessing her at work, although he had been home a majority of the week. She was at her best, of course, and Adrien, too, was a spectacular student.

His eagerness to impress his father warmed Nathalie’s heart, but of course, Mr. Agreste did not reciprocate. Instead of cheering his son on, or praising his efforts, the man was content with sitting in an armchair in the farthest corner of the library, pretending to read a book. 

He’d been on the same page for over two hours listening to Nathalie explain the finer details of two-digit addition and subtraction when Dupont entered to remind them dinner would be ready shortly.

“Can you eat with us Father?” Adrien asked suddenly.

A beat passed and Mr. Agreste’s brow raised, as though he had not considered the possibility before. In truth, they probably had never shared a meal in the entire course of Adrien’s young life, Nathalie realized.

“Will you, sir?” she repeated the plea before she could truly think.

He looked to her, then back to Adrien. Nathalie could not help but notice how his eyes gave him away, as they so often did. He was dumbstruck, apparently, with no ready excuse to explain away why he could not accept the offer.

“I will send the trays to the nursery, sir,” Dupont announced suddenly, unceremonious and definitive. 

Mr. Agreste was cornered.

“Very well,” he coughed as he stood and set his book aside, “I will change. We may be eating in the nursery but this is still Paris, and we still live in the 20th century.”

He calmly straightened his jacket as he began to walk away, only to turn and gesture for Nathalie.

“You, as well,” he stated, “We must set something of an example for the boy, mustn’t we?”

Nathalie smiled and excused herself to follow Mr. Agreste out into the hall.

“Overruled in my own house by my own child, governess, and butler?” he let out after a moment, “By God, what will become of my reputation, Mlle Sanceour?”

“I am sure your reputation will do just fine, sir,” she assured him, “In fact, I daresay it might improve. If that is not too presumptuous.”

“It is rather presumptuous, I think,” Mr. Agreste retorted as he turned off down the hall to his room, “But I concede to your point.”

Nathalie smiled to herself even as she entered her room and quickly changed. After weeks of standoffish father-son bonding, an impromptu family dinner was truly exciting. She only prayed nothing would go amiss. Adrien was a dear boy, and Mr. Agreste had revealed his caring side once before, surely father and son could one day mend whatever rift had grown between them. Though she reminded herself that somethings might be beyond mending.

Satisfied with her dinner wear, the usual grey, she hurried towards the nursery, only to meet Dupont in the hallway, carrying a serving platter with only two covered trays. 

He noticed her confusion instantly.

“I am sorry to report that Mr. Agreste had to leave suddenly. He apologizes for his absence at dinner.”

She could hardly believe the news, or rather, she did not want to. A sudden ringing in her head forced her to close her eyes as she processed his words.

“So soon? I spoke with him moments ago.”

“He wishes to pass along his apologies to Master Adrien,” Dupont continued, “Perhaps I should tell the young Master-”

“No, Dupont,” Nathalie sighed as she took the trays from him, though the pain in her head persisted, “I’ll do it, thank you.”

He nodded and opened the nursery door for her.

Adrien sat there at the table so patiently, in his Sunday best, smiling expectantly as she entered.

Upon seeing her face, his bright smile fell in disappointment, and it was with a heavy heart that Nathalie realized the boy did not need to be told anything. He already knew his father was not coming to dinner.

Nathalie glanced up to Dupont and she heard herself ask whether Mr. Agreste had left already.

“No, I believe he is readying the car now-”

Before she could think, before she could even plan her next steps, she had passed off the trays to him and turned down the hall. Her eyes, teary and hot, clouded as she made her way through the passages and down the foyer stairs. She thought she saw Mrs. Verner from the corner of her eye, saw her smile in greeting and then turn pale with worry.

“Mlle Nathalie?” she cried, “What’s happened?”

But Nathalie ignored her and instead pulled open the front door, almost colliding with the very man she was searching for.

“Excuse me-” Mr. Agreste began, a hand on her arm to steady her, “Is everything alright?”

Her throbbing headache made it difficult for her to maintain any degree of composure, but she tried. Despite the anger and disappointment boiling in her heart, she held her head high and met his eye. His own searched hers and he instantly backed away, straightening his posture defensively.

“Mlle Sancoeur, I do apologize for leaving so suddenly-”

“Why do you do it?” she demanded, though her voice faltered, “Here one moment, then gone the next. What could be so important that you-”

“Mlle Sancoeur,” he stated, his tone lowering, “This is none of your concern-”

“None of my-” she almost laughed, “It is every bit my concern - that boy is my only concern. There was a time I thought you felt the same.”

“Mlle Sancoeur, I really must-”

“Oh, please, go,” she shook her head and gestured him away, “Go wherever it is you go when you cannot stand to be near this place. But just know that Adrien cannot escape. He cannot fly away at a moment’s notice, though he wants to. He wants nothing more than to go to the places in his storybooks. Did you even know how much he loves to read?”

She paused, the ache growing worse as her fury boiled over, but Mr. Agreste was speechless, opening his mouth and then closing it again.

“But of course you don’t. You’re never here!” she let out with tears in her eyes, “He loves books, pours over them as though his life depended on it. That’s the only way he can escape this prison-”

“Mlle Sancoeur, it would do you well to remember your position-”

“My position is to protect him from the heartbreak of the outside world. That was what you asked of me when we first met. Yet it is not the outside world which hurts him the most, it’s his own father...”

Again, Mr. Agreste remained silent, his jaw clenched as he waited for her to continue. It seemed as though he knew he deserved her harsh words, and for some reason that made Nathalie’s eyes water even more than they already were.

“If you could have seen him just now, all alone in that nursery, waiting desperately for a father who would never come…” Nathalie choked on her words and closed her teary eyes, “I cannot -- I will not let you break his heart like that again. I can’t -- I...”

She lifted a hand to her face, feeling the tears on her hot cheeks. All her anger and passion suddenly faded as the pain she’d felt lifted and a strange faintness came over her. She found she could barely hold herself up and she could not stop herself from reaching out to Mr. Agreste, her legs threatening to give way beneath her.

“Mlle Sancoeur? Nathalie!”

Mr. Agreste wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her to him as her knees suddenly buckled. Her hearing seemed like she was underwater, she could hardly make out the shouting she heard as Mr. Agreste barked aloud some order to Mrs. Vernier. She felt him reach beneath her legs and sweep her up into his arms. Her head was heavy and she rested it against his shoulder and she felt the ghosting of a breath on her hair as his arms tightened around her. 

Then nothing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She did not know how long she slept, but it must have been some time indeed. She vaguely remembered a doctor coming in to examine her, and Mrs. Vernier sitting at her bedside with some sewing, even Adrien came and sat with her for a while, his childish worry warming her heart.

When she awoke fully, Mrs. Vernier was there to keep her in bed. 

“You mustn’t move an inch, dear girl,” she warned, laying yet another blanket over her, “Doctor Lemare says you are exhausted, your lack of sleep has disrupted your health. As well as your mind,” her caring tone shifted as she shook her head, “Whatever were you thinking? Mlle Nathalie I have never in my life heard anyone address Mr. Agreste as you have.”

“I know,” she murmured, “It is unforgivable of me, but I couldn’t let it alone. He had to know-”

“I understand, believe me, I do,” Mrs. Vernier insisted, taking her hands, “I have been with this family for many years and I have lost count of the times I wanted to speak my mind. But I did not have your courage,” she sighed with a sad smile, “However, I believed then as I do now, that nothing can come of speaking out of turn. What will happen to Adrien if you were to be sacked, hmm? Have you thought of that?”

Nathalie’s heart sank to her stomach. She had not thought that far ahead, and she did not know whether she could live with herself if Adrien would be alone again, friendless, loveless because of her insolence. But there was no changing the past.

Her voice failed her as she tried to explain herself, but from the look in her eyes, Mrs. Vernier understood her torment.

“Mlle Sancoeur, take heart,” she smiled and sat back in her chair, her kind eyes returning to her sewing, “Lucky for you, whatever harm your outburst might have had on your future here, Mr. Agreste is much more worried about the apparent damage it has done to your health,” she chuckled to herself, “He called for the best doctor, canceled his work travels for the next week, and has spent the past day entertaining Adrien in order to keep the boy from disturbing you. I admit he has not had an easy way of it,” her hands stilled and her smiling faded a little, “I have not seen him like this since...Well, it is no matter,” she stated matter-of-factly, “All he asks is that you rest and recover. But don’t let him know I told you. No doubt he will expect you to come begging for forgiveness. So it might do you some good to appear repentant the next time you meet with him.”

Nathalie did not know what to make of this knowledge, that Mr. Agreste had so easily overlooked her blatant attack on his character. But she tried not to read into it too much. She was only glad he was spending so much more time with Adrien. Perhaps he had taken her words to heart after all. 

As she rested in bed, her mind wandered to the cause of her current state. The noises she’d heard in the night, the paralyzing fear which kept her wide awake, unable to close her eyes. She wondered if Mrs. Vernier spoke to Mr. Agreste about it and if anything had been done. 

She knew deep down that it was no sleep-walking maid, but for the life of her, she dared not imagine what the truth might be. Vanilly was not so old as to harbor an ancient demon or spector, but what other restless souls might wander the house at such an ungodly hour.

That evening, her fears over the disturbing noises settled. Her exhaustion overcame her imagination and she slept more soundly than she had in a long time. But at some point in the night, she was roused from her rest, as she had been before, and she listened as that creaking scratching passed her door yet again. It was almost like clockwork, now. 

However exhausted she had been that day, her energy somehow heightened as the walking continued down the hall, a different path than the usual pacing. Nathalie listened, her ears straining, and she sat up in bed.

A beat passed, and then, a laugh.

A maniacal, shrill laugh, like a Banshee, wailed through the house. 

Nathalie’s feet hit the floor before she could think and she threw open her door to the dark hall. The laughter suddenly died. And a suffocating quiet filled the house again. But something was wrong.

She frantically scrambled to light the candle on her bedside table before she continued back into the hall, her bare feet following the path of the laugh as best she could. The hall came to a split, dividing to her left, the nursery, and Mr. Agreste’s chambers, and to her right, the library. 

Her first thought, of course, was for Adrien and she set out for the nursery. The lady in blue greeted her as she reached the end of the hall, and Nathalie lifted her candle to observe those green eyes, usually so bright and friendly. But candlelight casts the strangest shadows, and Nathalie saw no joy and cheerfulness in those eyes. Only despair and agony.

Her musing came to a swift stop as the faintest whiff of smoke caught her attention. She turned for the nursery door and quietly peered inside. There Adrien was fast asleep in his bed, clutching his stuffed cat tightly, a book of fairytales half-opened on his stomach. 

All was well, but the smell persisted. 

She glanced over to Mr. Agreste’s chambers and saw there a golden light flickering from beneath the door.

She knocked at the door, quietly at first. But when no answer came, she listened and heard the distinct crackle of a fire. She beat at the door again, finally opening it when no answer came.

Before her, Mr. Agreste’s private chambers, as meticulously tidy as she would have expected, but she had no time to take much note of his living quarters, for there was a much more pressing matter. Along the farthest wall, stood a grand four-poster bed, it’s curtains and canopy engulfed in flames, dangerously close to setting the entire room ablaze.

“Mr. Agreste!” She shouted, racing to the bed, no thought to modesty or decorum. 

His sleeping form made no move at the sound of her voice, and she reached out, taking his arm and all but shaking him.

“Sir! You must wake up! Sir?”

The man groaned, his weary eyes opening, confusion in all his looks as his sight adjusted.

“Mlle Sancoeur, what on earth are you-”

She did not need to explain herself, as a piece of burning drapery suddenly fell and he finally understood the danger he was in.

He threw off his blankets and took her arm as she helped him up. He ran to his washroom, grabbing at a washbasin there and filling it with water. He then did his best to pour the water over the flames, but the water did nothing to stifle the sweltering fire.

Nathalie raced to where a window had been left open, the night air only adding fuel to the fire. She then rushed to take the curtains, ripping them from the bed frame and dragging them across to the center of the room. Understanding her plan, Mr. Agreste tore down the remaining untouched drapes and blankets. Together they smothered the flames, averting the near-disaster just as dawn crept in through the windows and cast a hazy light over the smoldering embers and smoke. 

Hardly able to catch her breath with all the smoke, Nathalie leaned against the bed frame, her exhaustion returning to her in full force. But she did not know how to act. Mr. Agreste stood beside her, equally unnerved, his sleep shirt and trousers scorched in places, his hair remarkably disheveled. 

She herself was in a dangerously immodest state, wearing nothing but her nightgown, her once-braided hair now in tangled waves. She’d even forgotten her spectacles, so she could hardly make out the look on Mr. Agreste’s face as he silently grabbed his dressing down and draped it over her shoulders. 

“Come,” he gestured for her to follow him, “I cannot think straight in this smoke.”

She could hardly think of anything to say, and so found herself wandering the garden, Mr. Agreste at her side, taking in the morning air.

Mr. Agreste was quiet, absorbed in his thoughts as they walked. She caught him stealing glances at her, and she pulled his dressing gown tighter around her. It was odd. Despite the dramatic events which led them to this moment, Nathalie was strangely at ease. 

“Mlle Sancoeur, I...” he began but stopped.

“Yes, sir?” 

He looked above them as the morning purples and scarlets painted the sky, but his eyes were glazed. His mind was far away, somewhere she could not reach.

She turned and walked a few paces to the pond, it’s still waters covered in the thinnest layer of frosted ice. It was cold, terribly cold, and it amazed her that Mr. Agreste had not thought to bundle himself up a bit more for their morning jaunt. Her own bare feet were chilled to the bone, and she wanted nothing more than to retreat into the warmth of the house. She turned to him to ask if they might return but was met with his eyes.

“Mlle Sancoeur you are without a doubt the worst employee I’ve ever had under this roof,” he stated, his voice raised in annoyance, “I would have dismissed you on the spot for your insubordination, were it not for your unfortunate decline in health.”

She held her head, remembering the last time they spoke. It was embarrassing, also, to know how he had cared for her even after such an outburst. But of course, she was not supposed to know about that.

Mr. Agreste sighed in aggravation and ran a hand through his unkempt hair, stepping around her to stand at her side.

He inhaled sharply as he folded his arms, “Now the same woman I should have sacked is the same woman I now owe my life-”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to-”

“I would,” he affirmed and turned to face her, “If it were not for you, Mlle Sancoeur, I would not be standing here, and Adrien would be without a father,” he shrugged slightly and looked away, “Though of course, you seem to believe I am not father enough for him.”

It was Nathalie's turn to sigh in aggravation. 

“Mr. Agreste, I never said-” 

He glanced at her, brow raised, and she blushed. For she had, in fact, said that. She had said even worse, too. 

“I only meant...well,” she muttered gently, “I know what it’s like...to live without a father. It is a lonely life, sir. But you are here, now. Do not waste the time you have. These years are precious, and mean more to a child than you may realize.”

Mr. Agreste made no reply as she looked up to him, his eyes pensive and understanding. 

Without a word, he offered her his arm and together they walked back into the house. They passed through the foyer and up to the Northern Wing. Reaching the hall to her room, Nathalie paused. She did not know which path she should take.

“Mlle Sancoeur, do not trouble yourself any further on my account,” Mr. Agreste stated, “I will clear away the burnt mess myself. And I will let Mrs. Vernier know that it was only a candle which I failed to extinguish before bed. I believe that will satisfy her worry and curiosity.”

She nodded and her hand slipped from its place on his arm. She wanted to question him, to press him about the evil laugh she’d heard, the footsteps, the fire. For it surely was not as simple as a mere candle. 

But her heart was even more troubled by the feeling in her stomach as she watched him continue down the hall to his room. Some part of her desperately wanted to go with him, and as she caught him looking back at her, briefly, it almost felt as though he wanted the same thing.

Finding whatever willpower she still had, she fought the strange urge and slipped quietly into her room. She leaned against the door as she closed it, and waited to hear the faint echo of Mr. Agreste’s door closing as well. She released her tense breath and, climbing beneath the covers of her bed, welcomed the deepest sleep she’d had in years.

In her dreaming, it was as if she were beneath the shade tree again, sitting in the sunshine, calm and sweet.


	3. He Never Mentioned Her Name

October turned to November, autumn slowly giving way to winter, and Nathalie no longer heard noises in the night. Whatever phantom haunted Vanily’s halls, it kept its distance. Mr. Agreste on the other hand could hardly keep himself away. A man who once could not stand to be in the house for more than a few days at a time now had become ever-present. 

It gladdened Nathalie's heart to see him making every effort with Adrien. The boy was wary at first, but the more time Mr. Agretse spent with them during their lessons, sharing meals, and trying his hand at puppetry and story-telling, the more Adrien opened up to his father. 

Mr. Agreste was still strict, his expectations for Adrien’s academics were as lofty as ever, but Nathalie could not help but be impressed with his efforts.

“Does he like books about pirates? Or mummies?” Mr. Agreste had asked her as they perused the library in search of new bedtime stories one cold night. 

“He will love anything you read,” she assured him, “Anything fantastical and exciting will suffice, I promise.”

“Or a masked vigilante? I suppose I could dumb down ‘the Scarlett Pimpernel’ for his young mind,” he pondered aloud, fetching the book in question from the shelf.

“I hardly think Adrien would appreciate a story about the Reign of Terror,” Nathalie warned, “No matter how dashing and romantic the rest of the tale might be.”

Mr. Agretse raised his brow with a faint smile.

“Ah, yes, I see you are correct," he nodded, returning the book, "Perhaps later then, when Adrien is older and you have completed that history lesson."

She stood stunned while he continued searching for the library. For whatever reason, his mentioning a future where she was still teaching Adrien, it both delighted and perplexed her. How long would that future last before Adrien was ultimately sent to boarding school? It would happen eventually, of course, but she dreaded the thought. His leaving would mean her own as well. But that was years to come, surely. 

In those next weeks, Nathalie was surprised at how often Mr. Agreste sought out her advice. In regards to Adrien, it made sense. He had no experience with children and was only now beginning to acclimate to his role as a father. However, as the winter holidays grew closer and closer, Mr. Agreste came to her with a much more personal dilemma.

"Your family…" he asked one evening, after Adrien was fast asleep, "What sort of things did they do at Christmas?"

Nathalie looked up from her reading with a start. It had been some weeks since Mr. Agreste first invited her to pass the late hours together in his private study. Though at first, she felt it odd that an employer would wish to socialize with a member of staff, Nathalie quickly came to cherish their nightly tet-a-tet. That particular night was no different than the usual, as they sat together before the fire, in comfortable silence, each of them consumed in their own books. 

"Christmas, sir?"

"Yes," he cleared his throat and stood from his chair, setting down the book in his hands.

Nathalie noticed it was A Christmas Carol, and smiled to herself at the obvious inspiration for his questions.

"What sort of traditions did you enjoy growing up in the country?” he continued, “Gift-giving? Decorations? Christmas Feasts?"

Nathalie lowered her gaze, feeling a knot in her throat. 

"Sir, I am afraid I can be of no use to you on that subject-"

"Nonsense," he scoffed, "I can imagine you surrounded by a dozen older brothers all skating on some quaint pond. Or singing carols in the village square, perhaps?"

She smiled sadly, "Unfortunately, I had no brothers, sir."

Mr. Agreste walked nearer the roaring fireplace, thinking to himself as he so often did. Nathalie assumed the conversation was over until she saw him turn over his shoulder to her, his eyes searching, questioning.

"Come now, there must be something pleasant you remember."

She shook her head and he turned away, looking into the flames, lost in thought.

"Mlle Sancoeur, I realize now that I know very little about you, your life before Vanily," he mused aloud, "I wish to remedy that."

She flushed despite herself. 

"There is not much to tell," she admitted, "I was at the girl's academy before this-"

"Yes, but what of your family? Friends?" He persisted, turning to her again, "Your parents, for instance-"

"Both dead," she stated, coolly, "My father before I was born, and my mother when I was seven."

Mr. Agreste blinked.

"You have no other relatives?"

"There was talk of a cousin, on my mother’s side, who I have never met. And my father’s brother, of course," she sighed, reciting her tragic life story as calmly as if she were discussing the weather, “I stayed with his family after my mother died. His wife despised me. They could barely afford to feed me, so I was there only two months before they sent me off to school on a charitable scholarship. I lived there as a student, but when I finally came of age I had nowhere else to go, so the headmistress hired me as a teacher. Later on, I took over her position. But the school patron, too, despised me. He made it impossible for me to instill any kind of change in their brutal, puritanical curriculum. And so I left.”

Mr. Agreste was silent, looking at her like she was some otherworldly thing.

"Do not be so surprised, sir," she smiled, "And do not pity me. Life has been difficult but it has also been kind. I am healthy and educated. I have found good work. What more could I ask for?"

"What more? You can't be serious," he let out, running a frustrated hand through his hair, "I knew governesses often have some tale of woe, but Mlle Sancoeur, you cannot expect me to believe you actually delight in your past misfortunes?"

"I would not wish such a life on my worst enemy," she admitted as she joined him by the fire and felt a sort of bittersweet comfort in the flickering warmth, "But I will not dwell on it either. The past is the past, it will never change. Not for me, or anyone else. Not even for you, sir."

“Don’t I know it…” Mr. Agreste looked down into the fire, again, a half-hearted smirk on his lips, “The past can torture you, like nothing else in this world.” 

His eyes turned dark, sorrowful, and Nathalie wondered what tortures hid away in his own past.

“Sir?” she whispered gently.

But he was somewhere else, somewhere bleak and broken. He had gone there many times before when she was in his company, but that did not make it any less unsettling to witness.

“Sir-” 

She reached for his arm, but he tensed beneath her touch. With a sharp inhale, he shook his head smartly and blinked, his haunted eyes returning to normal. 

“Forgive me, Mlle Sancoeur,” he muttered, taking her hand in his, “The pits of despair are familiar to me. Though I am glad you are here. I never journey there long when I am with you.”

She nodded and started to pull her hand away, but he held it tighter, as though she were the only anchor he had with the present world. 

“You will recover, sir,” she comforted him, “It is always darkest just before dawn, isn’t that what the poets say?”

He rolled his eyes even as his fingers caressed hers, “Yes, yes, of course-”

“I know it has only been a year, but-”

She watched his eyebrows knit in confusion as she continued.

“...but the memories of your wife, her death-”

He dropped his hold on her hands and stepped back.

“Mlle Sancoeur, you presume too much,” he stated harshly, “I appreciate your attempts to comfort me, but if you mention my wife again I will have no choice but to dismiss you. Without pay, without references. Is that understood?”

She was speechless as she stared at him. Who was this man before her? No longer the grieving widower, this man was scared. Scared out of his mind, but of what, she could not fathom.

Without a quick enough answer from her, he stepped closer, his voice raised in panic, “I said, is that understood?”

“Y-yes, sir…” 

The sigh he breathed as he staggered to his armchair was hardly one of relief. 

“You should start for bed, it is late,” he said under his breath, resting his head in his hands as he stared at her.

“Yes, sir…” she whispered but she could not move to leave.

His eyes were fixed on her as though he were a scientist attempting to dissect some poor creature.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently.

But what could she say? The truth? 

The truth was far too difficult to comprehend. She had, for a single moment, imagined a world that frightened her more than anything. It was a world without Vanily Manor, without young Adrien, without...

“There, there, I am sorry,” Mr. Agreste uttered in apology, “Don’t be like that, now. I can’t stand to see you so afraid of me.”

“I am not afraid of you, sir, I-” she swallowed hard and gathered herself, “I just remembered a Christmas tradition. Though it is not my own.”

Mr. Agreste perked up with curiosity, “Oh?”

She nodded, “Many of my old school fellows often returned home for Christmas. They spoke of their families, aunts, cousins, all gathering in one house to celebrate.”

“It is a time for family, I suppose,” he concurred, glancing at her strangely, “Do you think Adrien would enjoy it?”

She smiled as best she could, “Of course, sir-”

“And you?”

“Sir?”

Mr. Agreste cleared his throat and lowered his gaze, “Would you enjoy spending Christmas with your family, wherever they are?”

Her smile grew despite her fluttering heart.

“My family is already here, sir.”

He looked up to her again, with a childish hope she had never seen before.

“And yes,” she breathed, “I would enjoy it very much.”

\--------------

That night Nathalie found she could not sleep. Her thoughts were plagued by her strange conversation with Mr. Agreste, at one moment pleasant, the next terrifying. She had thought they were becoming something like friends, though she did not flatter herself to think he thought of her as such. Still, she had once looked forward to the moments they could simply talk and be together. Now she felt a sinking dread in her stomach at the thought of being alone with him again. 

Would he be kind and quietly sincere, as she had come to know him? Or would there be that fearful tension she had sensed tonight? As if there were something hanging over him like a curse? As if he were closing himself off from her? As if she did not know him at all? 

Her thoughts ran away in this manner for several hours, when her eyes finally closed and she began to drift away. And then she heard it, a childish scream and sobbing.

“Papa! M-mama!” 

Adrien…

Nathalie threw on her dressing gown as quickly as she could before bolting out into the hallway. She heard another door open and shut as she passed down towards the nursery.

“Adrien?” she called, entering the room.

The boy was still screaming but when she reached his bed and sat beside him, his fearful cries settled a little. He lunged into her arms, his wet face pressed to her shoulder, an arm limply pointing to the door behind her.

“Mama...M-mama!” he wept softly, “I saw...she was…”

Nathalie held him tightly with one arm as she fumbled to turn on an electric lamp on his bedside table, “Adrien, I’m here sweetheart. It was just a nightmare-”

“No! I saw her! T-the lady...She was here!”

“There, there,” Nathalie uttered gently, finally finding the switch, soft light filling the room, “There is no one there, I promise.”

“What’s wrong?” a voice murmured from the door.

She didn’t even have to look up to know it was Mr. Agreste. His voice revealed a calmness which surprised her but, in turning, she saw him leaned with one hand on the doorframe, exhausted, with his robe haphazardly thrown about him, which proved he too had raced from his room in a panic. 

“Papa!” The boy sat up from her embrace as Mr. Agreste walked to lean at her side and reached over to brush the boy’s hair out of his tear-filled eyes, “She... Did you see her, Papa? She was here...”

“See who?” Mr. Agreste asked gently, but the boy shook his head and pressed closer to Nathalie.

“He says he saw a lady,” Nathalie sighed, “Does he often have nightmares likes this, sir-”

A hand pressed down on her shoulder and she looked up to Mr. Agreste, expecting nothing but a fond smile, one most parents might have when confronted with a child’s simple nightmare. Instead, she saw a stone-set brow, clenched jaw, and a fear in his eyes, not unlike the fear she had seen there mere hours before.

“Stay here,” he whispered, hand gripping tighter at her shoulder, “No matter what you hear, do not leave this room until I fetch you. Is that understood?”

Nathalie nodded, feeling a chill creep up her spine. Without another word, Mr. Agreste lifted his hand from her shoulder and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. 

Adrien whimpered in her arms, his little hands clenched at her dressing gown as though his little life depended on it.

“Shh, now,” she muttered softly, “It’s alright. Your Papa is going to chase the monsters away, okay?”

Adrien shook his head, “Not a monster. A lady.”

“A ghost, then,” Nathalie mused with a smile.

Adrien nodded, “Yes! I think so. Do you believe in ghosts, Mlle Nathalie?”

She sat up a little so that she could lean against the headboard, Adrien still nestled at her side.

“I do,” she explained, “But I do not fear them. I’ve met a ghost before-”

Adrien sat up and turned to her with wide eyes, his fear seeming to disappear.

“Really? Please tell me the story!” he implored with an excited shout.

“Shh,” she hushed, “I will if you promise to be silent. Your father needs us to be very quiet, alright?”

That wasn’t entirely true, she realized. He’d only asked them to stay put, but somehow the eeriness of the evening weighed heavily on her, and she felt that any amount of noise might trigger some unholy disaster.

Adrien was silent at her words, and settled back down, his head resting on the pillow as she began her story.

“A long time ago,” she began, though in truth it had only been 20 years, “When I was young, about your age, I was sent to school at a very old house. This school was very prestigious and there were a lot of rules. I did not always follow them-”

“You were a trouble maker?” Adrien glanced at her in shock.

“Not exactly,” she smiled, “One day, when I was very naughty, the headmistress sent me to a room that everyone knew was haunted-”

“Why was it haunted?” 

She shrugged, “No one really knows. But everyone knew that a ghost lived there and so the headmistress used it to scare girls and make them follow all the rules, even rules that were mean and unfair,” she gently stroked Adrien’s hair as she continued, “When I was trapped there, I became so frightened that I collapsed. When I woke up I saw a very old, very kind man sitting beside me. He told me that I did not need to be afraid-”

“He was the ghost!” Adrien exclaimed quietly, “But why-”

“He said that he was the old owner of the house, that he had passed away years ago,” she went on, noticing how Adrien’s eyes had begun to close despite her intriguing story, “He said he was very lonely because his wife and baby daughter were in heaven but he could not see them. He asked if I could talk with him and tell him what sort of place the house had become since his death. I told him it was a school for poor girls and that it had been named after him. He was very happy and thanked me because he had died believing his life was meaningless, and that he had left nothing good behind. But now, he could pass on in peace. I learned that ghosts are not evil or scary. Sometimes they are very sad and just need some help. Do you understand, Adrien?”

She looked down, expecting another question, but the boy was already fast asleep.

Nathalie only shook her head in amazement. The child that had been struck so harshly with fear was now a sleeping lamb. She brushed his hair aside and kissed his forehead before standing to her feet. 

“Mama…” the boy suddenly muttered under his breath, in his dreaming, “Don’t be… don’t be sad…”

Nathalie felt her heartbreak for this small, motherless boy, and quietly moved towards the door, but then suddenly remembered Mr. Agreste’s warning.

She stood frozen, hand on the doorknob, trepidation and worry keeping her still. She strained her ears to hear out onto the hall but heard only the silent, emptiness of the house. Surely this nightmare had been nothing and Mr. Agreste had been acting to placate Adrien’s overactive imagination. But the seriousness in his manner, the dark tone in his command, even the bruising grip on her shoulder…

Nathalie reached up and pressed into the muscles there, not surprised to feel soreness. It would leave a mark, though she had not felt pain in its making. Rather the opposite.

Her heart stammered but she ignored it and opened the door. Enough time had passed, surely Mr. Agreste’s play-acting had ended. 

She turned down the hall towards her own room when she heard shouting further ahead, toward the main stair. She heard Mr. Agreste and a woman’s voice. Not Mrs. Vernier, but someone younger. Walking ahead, she listened closely as Mr. Agreste raised his voice.

“How dare you insinuate that there is anything untoward about-”

“I’m not suggesting anything, sir,” the lady stated, though her tone was sarcastic and disdainful, “I merely wanted to make it clear that some persons might take it rather personally for the master of the house to spend so much of his time with a member of staff-”

“That is enough,” Mr. Agreste demanded, “If you wish to keep this position you know better than to meddle in my personal affairs.”

“Very personal, it would seem,” the woman huffed.

There was a pause. 

“Oh but don’t mind me, sir,” the woman sneered, “I should get back to work. We’d hate to keep the lady waiting.”

“Yes, fine,” Mr. Agreste sighed.

“And please accept my apologies for my neglectfulness tonight,” the woman mocked even further, “Shan’t happen again, sir.”

Then there were some hurried, heavy footsteps towards the West Wing. The West Wing? No, that couldn’t be. Nathalie must have heard wrong.

Then another set of steps began towards her and Nathalie stepped back, keeping close to the wall, suddenly fearful of being caught eavesdropping. She had never been this kind of person before, listening to others private conversations. It had happened by accident, and she could not help but be concerned. What exactly was Mr. Agreste so worried about and who was this other woman? She didn’t sound like either of the housemaids, although in truth Nathalie had spent very little time with them, so who was to say she hadn’t been one of them.

“Nathalie?” 

She snapped into reality as Mr. Agreste spotted her, a wrinkle in his brow.

“Sorry!” she blurted, “Adrien fell asleep so I came to search for you.”

Mr. Agreste took two steps and grabbed her arm to pull her towards him. He was firm, but not hurtful, but there was that fear in his eyes again. 

“I told you to stay in the nursery,” he stated forcefully, irritated with worry, “Why could you not listen to a simple-”

“I am not a child, sir,” she let out, more confused than scared, “I know there is no ghost or monster under the bed. You do not have to act so seriously with me. I know it’s not real.”

Mr. Agreste’s anger dissipated and his shoulders dropped a little, almost in relief. He did not let go of her arm as he took a step back and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. 

“And you didn’t hear anything? Just now?” he asked.

Nathalie went silent. She couldn’t lie to him, not when he looked at her so sternly and expectantly. She was strangely reminded of their first meeting when he asked her if she would teach without listening to rumors and scandal. 

“I did hear...something…” she began and felt his fingers tighten around her wrist, “But I didn’t understand any of it...I promise I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t,” Mr. Agreste sighed, his eyes fixed on her half in pain, half in wonder, “And that’s the problem. Isn’t it? You never mean to do anything, you just…”

He gestured at her as if her being would somehow explain his thoughts. It did not. 

Heartbroken, Nathalie looked to the floor.

“If...if I am a burden to you, sir-”

Mr. Agreste let out a laugh, a short exhale, and stood up straight.

“Is that a joke, Mlle Sancoeur?” he asked lightly, a sudden shift from his gloomy attitude, “You are the farthest thing from a burden. Mrs. Vernier once called you a god-send, and frankly, I think even that is an understatement.”

Nathalie flushed. She couldn’t help it. With Mr. Agreste beside her, in a darkened hallway, his hand still wrapped gently around her wrist, saying such things…

“I should go to bed,” she stated, not quite knowing how to make her head stop spinning.

“Ah, right,” Mr. Agreste slowly let go of her and he stepped away.

She turned towards her room and then realized with some dismay that Mr. Agreste was walking with her. Their rooms were in the same direction after all.

“Mr. Agreste,” she began after a moment, “I wonder… about Adrien’s nightmare…”

He halted for a moment but continued.

“Yes, what about it?”

She took a deep breath, “Does he… does he have any memories… I know you told me not to mention her again, but…” 

“Are you asking if his nightmare was about his mother?” Mr. Agreste finished for her, his tone low and thoughtful.

Nathalie nodded in affirmation, and she heard him inhale as if to begin a response. However, they kept walking down the hall. She was quiet, waiting for him to explain, but it felt as though he were holding his breath or thinking.

They reached her bedroom, but still, he made no answer.

“Goodnight, sir,” she said as she opened the door and took a step inside.

Mr. Agreste reached out suddenly, stopping the door from closing behind her.

She looked over to him, but his eyes were lowered, staring at the floor like a guilty child having been caught in a fib. Nathalie wanted nothing more than to reach out and smooth the furrow in his brow. But she held herself back. Something about the conversation she’d heard, about his spending time with a member of staff -- somehow she knew that was targeted at herself. It sank in her heart and she couldn’t fight it. Everything about this was wrong. What sort of governess found herself not once, but twice, alone at night with her employer, dressed in nothing but her nightgown? 

Mr. Agreste suddenly inhaled again.

“She isn’t… I don’t…” he began with some effort, his eyes lifting to hers, pleading and desperate, but then he stopped and his gaze lowered again, his hand moving from where he’d held the door open.

“Damned fool…” he suddenly whispered to himself, “Damned foolish coward…”

He turned on his heel and, without another word, walked down the hall, weight to his step, like a man with the world on his shoulders.

Nathalie felt like the wind was knocked out of her as she silently shut her door and turned to stare at herself in the vanity mirror, now aglow with the silver light of the moon.

She looked ghastly as if she was the one who had seen a ghost. But there was also a flush in her cheeks, a distinct glow. It made her fears curdle in her stomach again. But her fears quieted as she made her way to bed and her thoughts turned once more to Mr. Agreste and his suffering, complex and strange as it was. 

Grief expresses itself in different ways, for different people, Nathalie reminded herself, so perhaps grief was the reason he never mentioned her name.

Nathalie looked out through her window, towards the bright moon and stars, but their brightness only added to the dark knowing in her own heart. Because she had not seen grief in Mr. Agreste’s eyes. No. Whenever his thoughts turned to his late wife, there was only fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I cannot begin to apologize for how long this chapter has taken. Have no fear, I still intend to finish this story, but this summer was insane and I needed some time to work out my work/life schedule. Anywho, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! I love hearing from you!  
> <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> More to come! Stay tuned!  
> Comments + Kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> <3 <3 <3 <3


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